


Gonna Need More Than Nine Lives

by Masu_Trout



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Espionage, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 07:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8393509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/pseuds/Masu_Trout
Summary: A year ago Reeve would have been thrilled—he'd created life! He'd torn down the supposed laws of artificial intelligence!—but now he was only deeply afraid.
Reeve's state-of-the-art surveillance robot has apparently developed a consciousness. In not-completely-unrelated news, the thing has decided it's fond of the terrorists Reeve's supposed to be fighting.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [surskitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surskitty/gifts).



> I really liked your prompts, surskitty, and I hope you enjoy! :D

Reeve first realized he was in over his head when he came online one evening to find that his robot had committed suicide in his absence.

There was an error message flashing bright red on the screen, alerting him of critical system failure. There were fifteen video files, given names instead of the sixteen-digit numerical code they were supposed to be auto-assigned: MYSTERIOUSTEMPLE.avi, BATTLINGHUGEMONSTER.avi, FORTUNETELLING.avi, all the way up to GOODBYES.avi and MOMENTOFDEATH.avi. (He'd watched MOMENTOFDEATH first, terrified the footage would be of that stone-faced ex-SOLDIER, Cloud, pulling out his machine's guts and promising to come after him next. Only it hadn't been anything like that—it had been something else entirely instead, something bigger and more terrifying than he could ever imagine. His robot, programmed to protect itself and the secrets its body held above all else, willingly sending itself to the grave.)

There was even a note, a small file labeled FINALWORDS.txt slipped in with all the usual diagnostic data and recordings Reeve kept on the server. The robot wasn't supposed to be able to access any of it consciously, mainly because the robot wasn't supposed to have a _consciousness_. 

Reeve opened the file with trembling fingers, hardly able to breathe for fear of what he might find inside.

It was less a message and more a complete nonsequitor, nonsensical ramblings with a nine-character signature: 

_Beware false friends! Sudden storms may lead to a change of heart. Your lucky color is taupe._

- _✧(=ↀωↀ=)✧_

“Fuck,” Reeve said to the empty room, and then, once again: _“Fuck_. Reeve had always custom-programmed the little fortunes his robot spewed out. That one hadn't been written by him.

His first thought, disgustingly, wasn't _how did this happen?_ , but _how am I going to explain this to the Turks?_ A year ago he would have been thrilled—he'd created life! He'd torn down the supposed laws of artificial intelligence!—but now he was only deeply afraid.

Reeve brushed his fingers against a spot just behind his ear, a small circle of metal and scar tissue hidden by the fall of his hair. He'd given his creation more to work with than any machine before: scans of his brain, hours upon hours of neurological data, a constant feed of his thoughts and emotions and dreams. The Turks had wanted it to be more advanced than any other surveillance bot, complex enough to fool even the most paranoid into believing it had something resembling a soul.

( _Make it seem alive_ , Reeve remembered Tseng telling him, and that alone was enough to leave him choking on a terrified laugh.)

It had taken that data, drank it in hungrily, and used it to die for the very criminal organization Reeve was supposed to be in the process of destroying.

Reeve turned back to his system, fingers flying over the keys in desperation. He had other sorts of machines set up and ready to deploy: robots the size of insects that could watch them from above, robots that could sneak into their gear and hide away without being noticed. If he were quick about a replacement, the Turks might just forgive his failure.

Except… Reeve paused for a moment, fear and fascination warring against each other. 

It would relatively simple to report the robot's failure to Shinra, wipe the data and trash the backups and pretend none of this had ever happened. They'd be unhappy, sure, but even without the machine he was still their best hope of keeping track of AVALANCHE. They wouldn't want to kill him while he was still useful.

It would be such a _waste,_ though. This creation was a part of him as much as he was of it. Something in him rebelled at the thought of destroying it.

Reeve closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Opened them again. 

The next file he pulled up was a map, cyphered so that it would be unreadable by anyone but him: the locations of all his backup caches and boltholes-turned-impromptu-laboratories. Reeve didn't have a tenth of Hojo or Scarlet's budget, but he made up for it by being the most resourceful of all the executives. 

He had another copy of the same machine stored not too far from the (former) Temple of the Ancients. If he brought it online, he could have it rejoining AVALANCHE in only a few hours.

...If he had it rejoin AVALANCHE, knowing its instability, Tseng might just have his head.

 _Not like I'd be the first one to lie to the Turks,_ he thought, rather viciously. His fingers tapped nervously against the keys. According to the official intra-company reports, Hojo kept only dead tissue samples in the reactors, Scarlet's prototype weapons never malfunctioned, and Heidegger's soldiers were all perfectly trained.

He'd been honest, he'd worked hard and played fair, and all of it had gotten him— _this_. A robot he couldn't control and an outcome he couldn't predict.

Reeve's thoughts drifted back to AVALANCHE. He'd never been there with them, of course, but sometimes it was easy to forget that. His robot's recordings were incredibly detailed, and when he took directly control it almost felt like there was no barrier between them at all. Were they missing his robot's presence now, or did they still loathe it for its betrayal? Had the rest of them made it out all right? What would they be planning next, now that the black materia was in their possession?

 _Damn it_. Reeve only barely managed to resist the urge to slam his head against the desk. This wasn't just about strategy anymore, was it? He'd been so focused on survival, on his plans, that this part of it had slipped right by them.

AVALANCHE was a group of terrorists, mercenaries, thieves, defectors, and murderers… and Reeve was growing fonder of them with every moment he spent spying. 

It wasn't _that_ ridiculous, he thought, a bit crossly. Anyone would prefer the trust that Cloud gave out so freely to Tseng's eternal suspicion, Aerith's genuine cheer to the barely-restrained violence that Reno slipped into every friendly word, Tifa's mix of good humor and biting wit to Rude's stony silence. And, yes, Barret spent most of their interactions snarling threats to his robot's person, but a thousand insults from that man were less terrifying than a single word from Rufus's mouth. 

(He even preferred the Yuffie-the-shameless-thief to Elena, though that was a much closer call. Having his—his _robot's_ —greatest line of defense stolen grated on him, even if it had only been temporary.)

Understandable or not, though, it was _dangerous_. Reeve worked for a company whose employees disappeared over the smallest of infractions, and here he was sympathizing with the organization he'd been recruited to destroy.

The safe thing to do would be to forget all about any ridiculous sympathies he might have for the group and devote himself fully to the Turks' quest. (He hadn't forgot what they done to the reactors, after all, hadn't forgotten all the innocents killed.) But… he wanted to see AVALANCHE again. Properly see them, not from behind the lens of a miniature drone but eye-to-mechanical-eye. 

Reeve stared at the screen a moment longer before dismissing the dots on the map corresponding to his more discreet bots. He focused onto the location of his nearest Cait Sith backup. 

If he did this, he wouldn't just be sending a faulty machine back into the field. He'd be sending a thinking, planning, sentient being, a wild card with a consciousness that was completely alien to him and an agenda he couldn't trust. A creature who was more likely to get him killed than send him any more usable data.

Once, he'd considered himself a smart man. He was starting to wonder about that now.

“Okay, Cait Sith,” he muttered to himself. His finger hovered over the key that would activate this new body. “Don't screw it up this time, maybe.”

Second chances were a rare commodity at Shinra, Inc. Only time could tell whether this would, against all the odds, pay off.

Reeve pressed the key and hoped with all his might.


End file.
